


Read you like a book

by becka



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Anonymous Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Relationship(s), Public Blow Jobs, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Self-Hatred, Telepathy, Touring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 09:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3130262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becka/pseuds/becka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis realises Harry can read his mind. He'll do anything to make Harry admit it. Set during the North American leg of the WWA tour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Read you like a book

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mediaville](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediaville/gifts).



> For mediaville, who asked for "sudden onset of telepathy or mind-reading that leads to revelation of feelings/desires and then fucking" and "first time fuck after not doing it for years". I really hope you like it, lady. <33
> 
> Thanks to [Lucy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/balefully) for the read-through and general hand-holding.
> 
> Note: I completely made up the tour dates in this fic. Also everything else in it.

Harry brings him a cup of tea while he’s trying to make sense of a pile of stuff his accountant sent him. It’s the worst sort of admin, because there’s no satisfaction in it; the numbers don’t mean much more to him at the end than they did at the beginning. So it’s nice when a cup of tea appears at his elbow, and he looks up to find Harry hovering. He’d just been thinking he’d go into the kitchen and make one, but there’s not been a good stopping point.

“Cheers, mate,” he says. “I thought you were on the other bus.”

Harry tugs at his lower lip with his fingers and shakes his head. Harry’s been a little bit off for the last couple of days, and even Louis, removed as he is, can tell that. Normally they can stick to speaking about band stuff and save themselves both a lot of trouble, but Harry keeps doing this unsettling staring, hovering thing, like every time he zones out, he just happens to zone out on Louis’s face.

Harry seems to shake himself free. “Sorry, was I staring? I was just, like, thinking about stuff. Is that your investments and stuff?”

“It’s a bunch of crap I don’t understand that my accountant sent along, so I reckon that’s probably the topic.” He feels even stupider about it having to explain it to Harry, that he doesn’t know, that there’s loads of adult stuff so beyond him.

“You’ll get it figured out,” says Harry, and Louis looks him up and down for a second before going back to studying his pages of dividends.

“I’ve really got to get through this paperwork,” Louis says. “Thanks for the tea though. It’s just what I need to keep me company.” There’s something brittle and artificial to Louis’s smile, but he can’t help it. Once upon a time, talking to Harry was as easy as breathing, but those days are long gone. Now it’s all like this, uneasy and not quite real.

 

The first time he realises something’s really off is when he sees a sign that says “Welcome to Louisville”, and he wants to phone him mum to tell her he’s finally home. He’s got no clue where his phone is, but before he can even start to look for it, Harry scoops it out from between the seat cushions and hands it over, saying, “She’ll want a picture as well.”

Louis freezes in disbelief and says slowly, “Who’ll want a picture of what, Harry?”

“Your mum,” says Harry. “Of the sign. You just. Oh.” He stops abruptly and shuts his mouth in a hard little line. Then he walks away toward the back of the bus.

Louis stares after him. “That was fucking bizarre, right?” he says to Liam, who’s sat next to him. “I didn’t say anything about the sign, did I? Out loud?”

Liam looks briefly over at him, still mostly lost in texting Sophia. “Dunno, mate. I reckon I wasn’t really listening.”

Louis tweaks his nipple and thinks sourly that even in Louisville, people don’t treat him with the respect he deserves. He wanders back to the bunks for a cuddle with Niall, whose appreciation never wavers. Harry’s sprawled on the sofa in the back with his journal out, chewing his lower lip as he writes. Louis watches the dark pink of his mouth for a moment until Harry looks up, and Louis wonders what Harry sees in his face that makes him look so shocked. It’s not as though Louis never looks at him or talks to him, especially when they’re just on the buses out of sight of the fans. They look at each other for a long moment before Harry blinks first, and Louis can’t think what to say to him besides, You’re acting weird. Which is tough to say given that everything about Harry is often weird. So Louis turns away without saying anything at all.

 

The longer the tour goes on, the more Louis starts to think Harry’s hiding something important from him, and by the time they hit Chicago, he thinks maybe he knows what it is, even though it’s completely fucking insane. _Can you read my mind?_ he tries to think in Harry’s direction during lunch at the venue. Harry doesn’t look up from his phone, but Louis’s sure his shoulders tense a little. _You can, can’t you? I fucking see you, Harry._ But Harry keeps his eyes staunchly on the screen, thumb scrolling steadily. Then Liam throws a bread roll at Louis’s head, and Louis has to retaliate, so he can’t hang around staring at Harry.

He’s sure that he’s cracked it though, got a handle on Harry’s secret.

At first he just thinks insults in Harry’s direction, funny ones, not even mean ones. It’s intriguing to think maybe Harry’s listening in on his head, tuning him in like a radio frequency. Louis’s vain enough to be sure plenty of his thoughts are dead funny. But the more he thinks about it, the more upsetting it is. He can’t control what Harry’s seeing, and he has no bloody clue how long Harry’s been seeing it for. Every time he thought he was shit and no one needed him and maybe he should just leave the band; every time he regretted being short with Niall and couldn’t make himself apologise; every time he had a quick wank remembering how good it felt to sit on Harry’s dick; all that could be on display. And he gets fucking nothing in return; Harry’s as opaque as he ever was.

The things he thinks in Harry’s direction become more targeted and savage. _You don’t even want to be here_ , he thinks. _Everyone knows what an up yourself little twat you are now. We’re all just counting down the days until you leave because you think you’ve outgrown us._ But after a while he realises that if Harry can listen to Louis’s thoughts whenever he wants, he’ll know those things aren’t true, that Louis is still proud of him as ever. And he’s still pretending he can’t hear any of it, like everything is normal and they can just carry on avoiding each other on stage. Harry isn’t even bringing Louis fresh cups of tea whenever he wants anymore, as though that would give something away.

 

They’re in Chicago when Louis decides it’s time for drastic measures. He’s glad Harry’s on the other bus, but he doesn’t even fucking know if it matters. Does Harry have to be near him to read his mind? That’s exactly the sort of thing he would ask if he thought there was the slightest chance Harry would answer.

He takes Niall with him to a bar and drinks until he can’t see straight and the world feels like an amusement park ride. He gets into an argument with a stranger about the virtues of real football versus American football, and he’s sort of hoping it’ll come to blows when Niall steps in and tones everything back down. “Fuck off,” says Louis, but Niall just pulls him into a sweaty, swaying hug, hushing him like a kid.

“You want to fight someone, fight me,” says Niall.

And wouldn’t that make Harry take notice. “You’ve only got one knee,” says Louis regretfully. “That’s no fair fight.”

“You think I couldn’t take you, huh?” says Niall, poking him in the ribs. Louis lurches away, but he can’t even be mad. If he wants to get in a fight, he’ll need to go out with Liam, probably.

“Good night?” asks Harry at rehearsal the next day. Louis is drinking tea and waiting for a second round of paracetamol to take effect.

“Brilliant,” says Louis tightly. “Thanks.”

Harry’s smile is so fucking serene, like nothing Louis could do would even affect him.

 

Going out with Liam and Sophia isn’t like going out with Liam, Louis discovers. Liam is chill and happy and doesn’t rise to Louis’s bait, and he’s sipping champagne with Sophia instead of pounding pints. Much as Louis likes Sophia, tonight she’s just standing in his way. There’s no one in the club who looks aggro enough to pick a fight with, so Louis gets out his phone, trying to plot where to go next.

His stomach twists with nerves as he realizes there’s something totally different he can do to make Harry take notice. He slips out while Liam and Sophia are cooing disgustingly to each other and goes into a gay club down the street. He knows he doesn’t have “twink” written all over him anymore—he’s done a lot to get away from that—but he still knows how to move to attract attention. And it’s not long before he’s got a bloke’s hands all over his arse and he’s grinding back into it.

It feels scarier than being completely pissed with Niall had last night; it’s probably on a level with smoking weed on camera. He’s by himself, and he’s whispering to a stranger that he wants to suck his cock in the toilets. It’s been so fucking long since he had a cock in his mouth, but he remembers how to take it, and the guy isn’t nearly as big as Harry. He palms at the back of Louis’s head, knotting up his hair with clumsy fingers. Louis tries to think, “This is better than Harry’s cock,” while he’s slobbering all over it, but the fact is, he can’t stop thinking about how it used to be, how he’d practised with his toothbrush until he could take all of Harry’s cock without gagging, the satisfaction of Harry easing all the way into his throat the first time. Belatedly he remembers that he’d never told Harry that, let him think it was just natural talent. Maybe across the city Harry finally knows now.

He lets the guy fuck his throat and come in his mouth, even though he hates that, and he stays gasping on his knees for a minute once he’s done. The guys pats him on the head before he slips out of the cubicle, and Louis wipes his swollen mouth on the sleeve of his t-shirt, suddenly drained. He goes back to Liam and Sophia with his hair hastily flattened and his voice shot, and they ask him where he was, but casually, like the hour he was gone he could have just been dancing out of sight. Louis nicks some of their champagne and doesn’t say anything.

 

In the morning, Harry keeps sneaking glances at him during breakfast in the hotel restaurant. His cheeks are slightly flushed, and Louis replays his own memories of last night for Harry’s benefit, the painful tug of the man’s fingers in his hair, the way his mouth went wet and slack for a cock in it. Harry meets his eyes for one electric moment before he goes back to his fruit salad. Louis realises he’s going to have to try harder.

After the show that night he showers and shaves and puts on his tightest jeans and a t-shirt that any other day he’d call too small. He gels his hair and puts on an image he set aside two years ago. He looks at himself in the mirror and thinks “sassy but clean cut” and takes a car downtown to get himself wrecked. He has to take security into the club with him this time, since he can’t take the other lads down to Boystown without them asking questions he doesn’t care to answer. But he’s an expert at getting into places he shouldn’t, so one beer in, he shouts, “Going for a wee,” to Alberto and slips off to the back room in search of prey.

It’s every depraved thing he could have hoped for, and it’s only a minute before a man built like a brick shithouse beckons him over and puts him on his knees. His dick isn’t particularly large, but he uses Louis’s mouth with a lack of care that makes up for it, angling Louis’s head for his thrusts, fucking his face thoroughly and grunting a warning before he comes on Louis’s tongue. Louis spits his load onto the filthy tile, sure it’s had much worse. He stands gingerly, but now every man watching knows what he came for, and a couple more of them come up to offer it to him immediately, hands on his waist, his cheek, palming down his back to the lush curve of his arse. “Want to suck my dick, pretty boy?” a voice says by his ear, and he doesn’t even turn before he nods. He doesn’t need to see their faces; he doesn’t need to speak to them.

The man offers him a pill as he sinks to his knees, says, “This’ll make it better.”

Louis squints up at him. It’s such a fucking terrible idea. “What is it?” he asks.

“Are you British?” the man says. Louis has the urge to snap at him, but for once in his life he holds his tongue and nods. “It’s just some herbal shit. You’ll like it.” Which is probably a lie, but Louis opens his mouth anyway.

_This is your fault, Harry_ , he thinks as he swallows.

He’s taken ecstasy exactly once, and it’s unfortunate that that was at Leeds Festival with Harry, so when he recognizes the feeling that flushes through his body, it takes him straight back there, Harry fucking him on a deflating air mattress while even the slipping plastic under his knees felt like a new and beautiful experience. He wanted Harry to touch him everywhere, to get inside him everywhere and move with him until he lost himself altogether.

The guy who gave him the pill is gone by the time it really kicks in, but there are two others in his place, and Louis takes one in each hand, tracing his fingers over the hot skin of their dicks and rubbing at the naked heads of them. He always forgets Americans are circumcised, but their cocks are fucking fascinating. He rubs his cheek against one, no foreskin giving way to his strokes, and when he takes it in his mouth it’s practically a religious experience, the slither of skin along his tongue, the salty burst of precome. He trades off between the two men in his hands, sloppy but intent, and there are hands in his hair and on his hollowed cheeks. He’s not even sure if he’s hard because just the weight of his clothes on his skin is overwhelming him with sensation.

He’s finishing off another bloke who’d shown up in front of him at some point when Alberto appears at his back. He tells the man to fuck off and grabs Louis by the collar. “On your feet, lad,” he says, and Louis sways into him, rubbing his sticky face against Alberto’s shirt. He misses having something in his mouth already.

Everything that happens after that seems to go by too quickly, in short breaths and sharp bursts of sensation, until he’s cradling a water bottle between his hands and dipping his tongue into the cool mouth of it, the smooth glass of the car window against his face.

Alberto guides him into the hotel through a back door, and Louis squints into the bright industrial light. He can’t stop clicking his teeth together, hearing the grinding sound of them inside his own head. “You’re in for a proper bollocking in the morning, Lou,” Alberto says, shoving him into his hotel room and shutting the door behind them. “But I assume you won’t remember anything I say to you right now, so I’ll save it.”

“Sorry,” says Louis. He’s starting to feel heavy and bedraggled, and he wants to sleep.

“Probably the first time you’ve ever said that, and you’re high as a fucking kite.” He turns on the shower and helps Louis out of his clothes. “Do you know what you took?”

“Someone gave it to me,” says Louis. The water’s only lukewarm, and Louis leans into the spray, opening his mouth to it.

Alberto swears. He lets Louis stand in the shower for a while before he turns it off again and hustles Louis off to bed, still in just a towel. “You’re beyond lucky you don’t have a show tomorrow,” he says. “Get some sleep.”

Louis feels like he’s swimming in the big bed, moving his arms and legs sluggishly against the sheets. His mouth is sore, and his skin is still tingly, and he wishes someone were here to hold him. He’s not sure where Niall is, but he’d surely come if Louis called. He doesn’t know where his phone is though. He can’t call anyone without his phone. Except Harry. Harry could be listening in right now, hearing him think. They’d been so happy fucking in a muddy tent, licking at each other’s mouths to feel the difference in texture of tongue and tooth. And now Harry’s in his head and won’t even say so. Luckily, Louis falls asleep before he can start crying properly.

 

In the morning, everything feels so awful that he doesn’t even leave his room. His head aches and his knees and lips feel bruised and he’s ashamed right down to his core that anyone saw him like that, on his knees desperate for cock. Alberto and Paul come in to yell at him about taking drugs from strangers and conveniently leave out any mention of the four guys Louis sucked off last night. Louis lies huddled in the duvet and takes it, knows it’s better than he deserves. He gulps down three cups of water from the bathroom tap once they’re gone, and he avoids his own eyes in the mirror. He hopes Harry’s fucking miserable. That’s the only thing that could make any of this worth it.

Niall shows up with a cup of tea and a croissant around noon, while Louis’s sitting on the bed in his boxers staring despairingly at his suitcase. They’ve been in this hotel three days, so Louis’s not quite certain how all his things can have exploded like this. “Plane’s in a few hours, mate,” says Niall. “Need a hand packing?”

“Maybe I’ll just leave it all and start over fresh in… where are we going?”

“Toronto,” says Niall. “You all right though? Paul said you’d had a rough night.”

Louis shrugs and bites at the cardboard rim of his cup. Niall would be sweet and understanding, and that would be even worse than being told off.

“Need a cuddle before we pack?” Niall asks. Louis hesitates, but the idea of being touched by someone who isn’t a total stranger seems sort of nice just now, so he lets Niall hold him for a minute, resting his cheek against Niall’s shoulder. Then he goes into the bathroom to cram everything back into his kit bag.

 

Louis doesn’t see Harry until he comes running onto the plane, clutching an ugly hat and apologising to everyone in sight. Louis’s already sat with Zayn listening to some tracks Naughty Boy sent him, and he rolls his eyes as Harry stumbles into the seat across the aisle. It’s almost normal until he notices Harry staring at him, openly this time, not even trying to hide it. Louis gives him a savage little smile and shuts his eyes. He hasn’t told anyone about last night, said he went out but came home feeling ill instead of admitting to being a complete slag. But Harry knows, and if he wants Louis to stop, all he has to do is admit it. Harry doesn’t speak to him all day.

 

Louis wants a bus night, a bit of time to smoke up with Zayn in familiar surroundings and let everything else fade out a bit, but instead they’re stuck on a cramped hotel balcony, which is ten storeys up, so at least he tells himself they’ll just be tiny specks in the pictures the fans below are taking. Louis stubs out his cigarette on the railing and goes to see what’s taking Zayn so long rolling blunts. What’s taking so long is apparently that Zayn got distracted texting Perrie, and Louis throws himself on the bed in a frustrated heap. He doesn’t know what he needs anymore except for Harry out of his fucking head.

“Chill out, mate,” says Zayn. “This is great stuff.” He licks the edge of the paper to seal it, twisting the ends of the joint in tight before passing it over. Louis goes out to the balcony and drags the two chairs as far from the edge as he can so the crowd below can’t see them. He lights the joint and takes a first long drag before handing it to Zayn. Already his head feels slightly less crowded.

“Are you alright, Lou?” Zayn asks suddenly, after a few minutes of glorious, smoky silence. “Like, really, are you feeling all right?”

“Fuck off,” says Louis automatically. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” says Zayn. He holds his smoke for a long moment before blowing it out in a thick plume. “Whatever you say, mate.”

“Fucking right whatever I say,” snaps Louis. “I wish everyone would just stop bloody asking me.”

“You disappeared last night, and all anyone knows is you were feeling bad enough that Paul told us not to try and talk to you before noon. That’s caused a bit of concern among the lads.”

“It’s fine,” insists Louis. “I’m fine now. I was just ill.” If anyone in the world could pry it out of him, it would be Zayn, and he feels frantic with the need to avoid that. He doesn’t want Zayn to look at him the way Harry had today. Zayn passes the joint back, and Louis holds his smoke for ages before exhaling, willing it to calm him down properly.

Faint screaming filters up from the pavement below, and Louis wonders if one of the other lads is braving the fray down there, but he doesn’t get up to see. He’s tempted to go out himself, images of last night taunting him, the way he’d felt letting those men touch him, like everything was simple and all he had to do was what he was told. But he doesn’t think anyone on their security team will be willing to take him anywhere on his own again, and he really can’t imagine asking the others to come with. It’s bad having Harry in his head, but there are so much worse possibilities. Still, as he takes the joint back, shaping his mouth around it and tasting the dampness of Zayn’s spit mixed with his own, Louis can’t stop thinking about the men at the club, the way they’d felt in his mouth. It was familiar and different all at once. He’s sucked so little cock in the last couple of years, left that behind as part of a long list of things he didn’t need anymore. But if this is any indication, he does need it, aches for it in a way he couldn’t have predicted. Maybe this is just one more thing Harry’s left him with.

The weed leaves him maudlin and fuzzy instead of calm, and by the time he and Zayn go back inside, he’s complaining loudly about Harry being late to the plane, Harry texting during band meetings, Harry generally existing. “Why do you care though, mate?” says Zayn reasonably. “We all do those things sometimes. Why are you so bothered about Harry suddenly?”

“It’s not suddenly,” Louis replies. “He’s always bothered me. He’s just doing it fucking more at the moment.”

Zayn gives him a long, hard look. “You can’t rewrite history, Lou. You can’t bury it that deep and pretend we don’t remember.”

Louis feels all the fight go out of him, all the anger drain away until he’s just so fucking tired. “Fuck off,” he says, rolling off Zayn’s bed and getting to his feet. “I don’t need you to tell me what I think.”

He leaves without waiting for Zayn to say something reasonable, goes to his own room because he doesn’t know what else to do. He says a pre-emptive “fuck off” to Harry in his head as well, Harry who may not even be there. It’s too late to have a nap or call his mum, so he orders a burger from room service, even though he’s not hungry, and turns on the TV, flipping idly through the channels. There’s nothing he wants to do, so he digs a hand into his joggers and starts half-heartedly wanking, remembering the men surrounding him last night, trying to keep all of them from turning into Harry in his head.

He startles at the knock on the door, tugging his hoodie down to cover the bulge of his dick. The man who brings in the room service tray is tall with a long fringe and a wide, lush mouth. “One burger with fries,” he says, but the slow up-and-down look he gives Louis makes his toes curl in the carpet. Louis feels powerful and scared at once as he signs the bill and hands it back, holding on for a second longer than he needs to. He has long fingers

“Anything else I can do for you, sir?” the man says, and it’s not precisely flirting, but Louis thinks it’s close enough that he can make the leap.

“What time do you get off tonight?” Louis asks. “I might need something later.” He’s so proud that his voice doesn’t shake, that he sounds like someone who knows what he’s doing.

The man—Louis doesn’t even know his name—grins delightedly. “I’m off at ten. I would be happy to help with anything you need.”

“Sounds good,” says Louis. He flounders for a second. “I’ll see you back here then?”

“Sure. I’m Alex, by the way.”

“Louis.” He thinks he should shake hands, but it just makes him acutely aware that his hand was recently on his dick when he does so. That’s probably not sanitary.

Alex winks at him and heads for the door, and Louis’s bravado crumbles away to ash all at once. He sits down on the end of the bed and wonders what to do with himself for an hour and a half. He picks at his burger and eats a couple of chips, but he can’t really taste anything. And then he thinks of Harry seeing all his dithering and indecision, and that’s even worse than being dithering and indecisive. He decides to have a shower, scrubbing himself down thoroughly before he rubs a finger over his taint and up against the pucker of his arsehole. He doesn’t touch himself there, never, not anymore, but he thinks it may be what he wants most.

Louis takes a deep breath and drags a finger over his arsehole, pressing at the sensitive rim, feeling out the give of it under his fingertip. He hasn’t had a cock in him for ages, and the first finger is a tight fit, burning and uncomfortable as he stretches to accommodate it. But he keeps at it, rubs himself slick with the hotel’s body wash, fits his finger in until he starts to remember how this goes, how he has to breathe and relax and open to make it feel good.

When he crooks his finger just right inside himself he makes a little noise without meaning to, twisting his hips into the pressure and gasping wetly. He has short, narrow fingers, and it seems as though every angle he tries is awkward. He has to work for every sharp little shiver of pleasure, and it’s never easy like he remembers it used to be. But that’s what he has another person there to help with, he supposes. He’s going to let a total stranger fuck him in the arse, and tomorrow Harry can look silently appalled again and then turn away like he doesn’t care. If he cared, he’d fucking admit he’s in Louis’s head all the time, rooting around for his secrets.

 

Alex shows up just before eleven with his hair freshly washed and a t-shirt and jeans replacing his uniform. Louis waves to Alberto down the hall, but he’d already said he had a friend stopping by, and no one’s bothered to call his bluff. His heart is beating too fast, and he hates that he’s sober right now, even after a little bottle of bourbon from the minibar. “Hey,” he says. “I was starting to wonder if you were going to come.”

“I figured I should clean up first,” Alex replies, slipping past Louis into the room.

When Louis closes the door, it’s so quiet, and god, this was such a bloody awful idea. He stands there in his old trackies and looks at his feet and feels small. And then Alex steps to him and kisses him, and Louis shivers into motion. It’s hard to realise that he hasn’t been kissed since he and Eleanor ended things at the beginning of the year, but Alex’s mouth is firm and coaxing, and Louis opens to the slick heat of his tongue.

Alex’s hands curl around his arse and squeeze, and Louis leans up on his toes to kiss him harder, deeper. “What do you want to do?” asks Alex, thumbing into the back of Louis’s waistband.

“Have you got lube?” Louis replies, because although there’s a string of condoms tucked into his kit bag, he hasn’t needed to bother about lube in years, and he isn’t about to ask anyone else to get it for him.

Alex thinks for a second and then nods. “A little bit. Those ones they hand out at Pride, you know? I’ve never gotten to use one before. I don’t really…”

Louis doesn’t want to hear about how this stranger usually doesn’t do one night stands, how he’d like to take Louis out and save the shagging for after a candlelit dinner or whatever. So he kisses him quiet and says, “You should fuck me.”

Alex’s breath hitches. “Yeah.”

At least he doesn’t waste time after that, stripping down while Louis slides his trackies off his hips, nothing underneath to hide the stiff jut of his cock. Alex’s shoulders look even broader when he’s got his clothes off, and he pulls Louis into his lap like he weighs nothing, broad hands stroking Louis’s thighs as Louis kneels over him on the edge of the bed. His cock is fattening up nicely, and Louis doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved that it’s a perfectly normal size, thick enough to fit nicely in his hand, but nothing to write home about. Not that Louis can make a fair comparison; Harry had made him cry the first time they fucked.

Alex kisses him for a while, kneading at Louis’s arse while Louis rubs their cocks together in spit-slick hands. “How do you want it?” Alex asks, teasing his fingers between Louis’s cheeks, spreading him open a little.

Louis slides off his lap, gets up on all fours in the centre of the unmade bed. It gives the best view of his arse and means he doesn’t have to look Alex in the eye, which should be good for both of them. He knows just how to arch his spine to show off the curve, and Alex takes a sharp breath in response. “You’re really hot,” he says.

“Thanks,” says Louis. “Nice of you to notice.”

The next time Alex touches him, it’s with cool, lubed fingertip, right down his crack and then rocking into the grip of his arsehole. It’s not quite wet enough, but the burn feels right, and even after fingering himself in the shower, he’s tight for it, his body making Alex work for that first inch before he relaxes into the pressure. He hasn’t had this in so long, and Alex is gentle with him, working him open on one thick finger and then another, the lube making wet, sucking sounds as he fucks in harder and deeper.

Louis starts rocking his hips back, meeting Alex’s thrusts, opened up on the width of his knuckles. It’s fucked up that he’s sure he could come this way, his cock slapping against his belly, pleasure coiling tight in his balls. He’d let himself forget how much he loved being fingered properly, but it’s all flooding back, making him gasp wetly into the pillow.

Finally, he lifts his head to whisper, “Fuck me,” gesturing towards the condoms on the bedside table. His arsehole clings to Alex’s wet fingers as he pulls out, and Louis reaches a hand down to stroke his own cock, thighs trembling as he listens to Alex opening the condom packet.

Alex fits himself over Louis’s back, the tip of his cock snubbing up against Louis’s hole, and Louis’s glad he doesn’t say anything before he pushes inside, doesn’t give Louis a chance to back out now that he’s here. The head of his cock splits Louis open, and Louis sags down into the bed, breathing deep as Alex sinks into him with a grunt.

Louis’s never been with anyone but Harry, who liked long, slow fucks that left Louis shaky and breathless, but Alex slips right into a quick, pounding rhythm, hitching Louis’s hips up to nail right into the centre of him with each thrust. He strokes his dick as Alex fucks him, loses himself in the rhythm and doesn’t have to think for a few minutes. And it is just a few minutes before Alex groans and comes, holding deep inside him. Louis strokes himself to orgasm as Alex pulls out, bearing down on the retreating length of his cock.

Alex gasps and reaches down to touch Louis’s hand where it circles his spurting dick. “I was going to…” Alex begins, but Louis slumps away from him, going flat on the bed.

“You’re alright,” says Louis. He feels hollowed out, empty and tender inside, and it doesn’t even matter that he’s just come; he’s still tense and uncomfortable. He wants to clear out the minibar and go to sleep.

Alex brushes a hand down the curve of Louis’s spine, and Louis flinches. “That bad, huh?” says Alex. “I’m sorry, man. We should have talked about it.”

“It’s fine,” Louis snaps. “You came, I came. All good. Surely you have someplace to be now.”

Alex stands and drops the condom in the bin, and Louis can hear the rustle of him getting dressed, but he doesn’t look up. He hopes Alex will just leave then and save them further awkwardness, but Alex bends to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you were looking for.”

Louis buries his face in the pillow and makes a noncommittal noise. He doesn’t need anyone else thinking they know what’s in his head, and it’s a massive relief when he hears the door click shut. He drags the duvet up over his head and wishes he could will a drink into his hand because he can’t actually imagine getting up.

 

The sound of the door clicking open jolts Louis out of a sour doze, and he calls, “Not now, Alberto,” and pulls the duvet more tightly around him. “Tell me off for being a slag in the morning.”

A familiar hand pulls back the duvet and he can smell Harry’s cologne before he looks up. “You are the last fucking thing I need right now, Styles,” he says tiredly. “It’s creepy enough having you in my head without having you wandering into my room too.” He hasn’t said it out loud before, and if Harry were going to deny it, now would be the moment. But Harry just looks sad.

“Are you alright?” asks Harry. “I thought you might need a drink.” Louis realizes he’s got a bottle of wine in his hand.

“You didn’t think anything. You knew I was fucking thinking it, and you came to take the piss and disapprove.” It’s so hard to look at Harry and not cry, and harder because Harry knows, because Harry knows exactly how badly Louis wants to keep it in, his whole mess of stirred-up feelings. “So, well done, I feel like shit, as you now know. And you can leave before I kick your arse.”

Harry kneels down beside the bed, putting himself at Louis’s eye level. He folds his hand over Louis’s where it’s gripping tightly at the sheet. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Louis shuts his eyes, wet at the corners despite his best efforts. “Not sorry enough.”

“I love you,” says Harry, and it’s like he’s picking at the seams of Louis’s heart, trying to tear him open all over again.

“Then why didn’t you fucking say something? You knew that I knew, and you still didn’t say.”

Harry climbs into bed beside him, hugging him through the duvet, and all Louis wants is to have him closer. “I didn’t know what to say. I thought I was going insane.”

“You brought me tea, in the beginning. You were nice to me. That’s insane, is it?”

Harry tries to wriggle out of his jeans before he gets under the duvet and nearly rolls himself off the bed in the process. Louis has to grab onto the front of his shirt to haul him in. Harry’s in boxers and a t-shirt, pressed against Louis’s naked, sticky body, and Louis nearly chokes on the wave of shame that hits him as he curls into Harry’s arms. Harry shakes his head, nuzzling into the side of Louis’s neck. “It was like an echo in the beginning, like I’d just have these thoughts pop into my head, and I didn’t know why, but I’d go along with it. Like bringing you tea, or talking to you when you were sad. But then when you were nearby it was stronger and, like, more focused. It was like you were talking to me in my head.”

“And you could have said then.”

“It was nice though. You hadn’t let me in in so long. So I just let it be. I liked listening, and knowing what you were thinking. I didn’t want you to be angry.”

“Worked out well for you, did it?” Louis asks, playing back the last three nights in his head. He’s done so many things he’s ashamed of, pushed himself to places he never would have gone if Harry had just let him know what was happening. And the fact is, he’d chosen that, chosen that rather than speaking to Harry himself.

Harry’s arms tighten around Louis’s waist. “I’m so sorry.”

“Inside of my head’s a fucking mess right now,” Louis says, turning a little in Harry’s arms, bringing them together face to face. “Reckon that can’t be too nice for you.”

Harry presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “It’s worse for you.”

Louis wants Harry to kiss him again, thinks he must be broadcasting that so loudly. And then Harry does, touching his cheek and tilting their mouths gently together. Louis takes a shaky breath and reaches up to cup the back of his neck, fingers catching in Harry’s long hair. It’s slow and hot, Harry’s lips parting on his, nearly making him forget this isn’t his first kiss of the night. And then the memory comes slamming back, like lead in his stomach. He doesn’t deserve Harry being careful with him, not when he’s fucked someone else in this very bed.

Harry shakes his head, the tip of his nose brushing Louis’s. “I love you,” he says, like that can stop it, the nauseating swell of guilt.

“Don’t mind sloppy seconds then?” asks Louis. “Generous of you. Maybe a bit kinky.”

Harry pulls back enough to look at him, and Louis hates seeing the pity in his eyes. “It’s not pity, Lou. But you’re so cruel to yourself. You’re so…” He blinks wetly, squeezes so tightly around Louis’s waist. “It hurts so much, being this close to it, when you’re just tearing yourself apart. And you don’t deserve it. You couldn’t ever deserve the things you tell yourself.”

Louis shuts his eyes and tries to bury his face in the pillow. “Get out of my head then,” he snaps. “You don’t have to feel it.” He thinks Harry should leave, and he wants Harry to stay, and the latter is so much stronger, this bone-deep ache. There’s no way he can hide it, push it down or out of sight.

“Just let me,” says Harry. “Alright? Just let me love you. That’s what I want, okay? I know you don’t, like, believe it, but you want to.”

“Stop,” says Louis. “You can fuck me without telling me what I want, can’t you? Without making a fucking spectacle out of it?” There are slow tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, like a dam cracking under the weight of a flood.

“I don’t want to fuck you,” says Harry, running a gentle hand down over the curve of his hip, along the back of his thigh.

“Wonderful,” snaps Louis. “Too dirty even for notorious slut Harry Styles. Real good one for my flagging self-esteem.” His voice catches, and he starts to cry for real, hitching a sob into the pillow. He feels flayed.

“Please,” Harry says desperately. “God, please don’t. If I could swap us, I would. Like, if you could see in my head, so you’d know. You’d know how much I want you, how much I’ve always wanted you. But not when you’d do it to make yourself feel worse, not when you’d build it up into one more thing you’ve done wrong.”

Louis lets Harry kiss his cheeks, his eyelids, the tip of his nose. He’s feeling so much, shaking and crying and he can’t make sense of anything, even in his own head, and he can’t stop thinking how the mess must look to Harry. Harry takes a breath like he means to say something, but Louis shakes his head, pulls himself together enough to say, “I love you. Stay. Stay and don’t listen to me anymore. Alright?”

“Alright.” Harry holds him until he cries himself to sleep.

 

In the morning, Louis wakes up with his legs tangled with Harry’s, Harry looking at him from close range on the same pillow. Louis can’t remember his dreams, and he wonders if Harry can.

Harry shakes his head. “Not so far.”

Louis pulls a face. “That’s weird. You answering things I’ve not said. It’s weird.”

“Sorry.” Harry looks sleepy and peaceful, and Louis feels a bit like the storm has passed in his own head. He still doesn’t want Harry there, but he can stand it. “Morning,” says Harry. He stretches his legs out straight, arching into Louis’s space and dragging the solid shape of his cock along the top of Louis’s thigh.

“Subtle,” says Louis.

“’M always subtle,” replies Harry. Louis has missed his slow grin so much, having the full force of Harry’s happiness turned his way.

He pulls Harry in for a kiss, biting gently at his bottom lip.

“You seem better,” Harry says tentatively.

“Maybe.” Louis’s half-hard too, and he thinks he’d like to do something about that, but he’s still got last night’s come flaking on his belly. The last time he’d come he’d had a stranger’s dick up his arse, and that’s not something he can get over quickly.

“Do you want to have a shower with me?” Harry asks.

Louis sighs and makes himself sit up. “I think I’d rather do it on my own.” He’s not really alone, even in the bathroom, but it’s nice to have a second to breathe and take stock of his body as he scrubs away the evidence of the night before, touching his arsehole and cringing a bit. He meets his own eyes in the mirror for a moment after, taking a deep breath before he goes back to Harry.

Harry’s got his cock out when Louis comes out of the bathroom, stroking it slow and steady. Louis struggles not to be impressed, the same way he always has. Harry’s probably even bigger now than he was at eighteen.

“Come here,” says Harry, reaching out a hand for him. He licks his lips and looks Louis up and down like he might swallow him whole. “You’re all clean now?”

“That might be asking a bit much,” Louis says, folding his arms across his belly self-consciously.

“Let me see,” says Harry. Louis feels weak-kneed just thinking about what Harry means by that. It makes Harry grin. “You can sit on my face if you want. For a proper inspection.”

Louis flushes hotly, but he’s never been with anyone who used their tongue as well as Harry, and he watches Harry watching every filthy thought run through his head.

When he finally gives in, Harry eats him out until he’s sobbing and shaking. Harry’s clever tongue works into Louis’s arsehole, and Louis nearly forgets anyone else has ever been there. Harry sucks at his rim, dipping one finger into the tight centre, his mouth making obscene slippery noises in the crack of Louis’s arse. Louis bends down to lick distractedly at the head of Harry’s cock while Harry rims him, thinking about getting it inside him.

Harry must know, but he doesn’t offer anything, just spreads Louis wider on his thumbs and licks him deeper. “Fuck me,” Louis gasps.

Harry groans. “That’s an invitation, right?”

“Yeah,” says Louis. He’s so tender and wet from Harry’s tongue, he thinks he could sink right down onto Harry’s cock just like this.

“There’s lube in my wallet,” Harry says, and Louis doesn’t ask why, just slips off the bed to rifle through Harry’s jeans until he finds it. The condoms are still strewn on the bedside table, but Louis holds back the sudden burst of shame that comes with the memory of last night. “We’ve all had bad sex,” Harry says, as though that’s anything like the point. “Let me make it up to you.”

He has to look Harry in the face as he rolls on the condom and slicks a handful of lube over Harry’s cock, and that’s probably the hardest part. He still feels broken inside, needy and scared and uncertain, and Harry can see every doubt running through his head. But Harry loves him anyway, and Louis doesn’t have to read his mind to know that. He settles the blunt tip of Harry’s cock against his arsehole and slowly starts to work himself down over it.

It’s a tight squeeze and not enough prep and he aches as his arsehole stretches wide open on the girth of Harry’s cock. But every breath makes it easier, warming him up inside, making him ready to take more. “I’m hurting you,” Harry says, hands gripping Louis’s flexing thighs as he settles Harry all the way inside him.

“It’s good,” replies Louis. He tries to tell Harry without words that this is how it’s supposed to feel, how he remembers it feeling. He’s so full up with Harry’s cock he doesn’t even want to move, rocking his hips a little until the angle feels just right. He’s missed this, he’s missed it so much.

“I love you,” says Harry, and Louis says it back, opening his eyes to look down into Harry’s face. Harry gasps and arches up into him, clawing at Louis’s thighs for purchase. “It’s so much. Feeling you. Knowing how it feels for you.” Harry looks like he might cry, and Louis feels that way too, bursting at the seams with love. He presses his hand to Harry’s chest, right over the thumping of his heart, and he may not be able to see into Harry’s head, but he can feel this. He can feel Harry’s heartbeat under his palm as he starts to move on Harry’s cock, rolling his hips until they’re both breathless and lost in the rhythm, and Louis starts to come without a hand on his dick.

Harry cries out when he does, eyes sliding shut, his whole body straining upwards, and Louis leans into his last deep thrust before pulling off and rolling onto his side. Harry fumbles for his hand and squeezes tightly. Louis’s sore inside, and his legs feel like jelly, but it’s so quiet in his head now, even with Harry there, that he’s starting to think he might actually survive this.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr [here](http://realmenwearpuppypants.tumblr.com/).


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